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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23150650">Finding the Path Again</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoyAndOtherStories/pseuds/JoyAndOtherStories'>JoyAndOtherStories</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), ButterOmens, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Takes Care of Aziraphale (Good Omens), Depression, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Nightmares, One Shot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Short One Shot, Snow, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:55:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,095</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23150650</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoyAndOtherStories/pseuds/JoyAndOtherStories</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Eventually, Heaven and Hell came for them again. Aziraphale saved Crowley and rebuilt their life...but hasn't been able to rebuild himself. Can Crowley bring his angel back home?</p><p> </p><p>[This story was written as part of the ButterOmens event on Tumblr, a chain of fanworks starting with a single story. Please see start notes for the previous stories!]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>161</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Finding the Path Again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23111779">Aziraphale's Path</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aethelflaed/pseuds/Lady%20of%20Prompts">Lady of Prompts (Aethelflaed)</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written as part of a <a href="https://n0nb1narydemon.tumblr.com/post/611808756218707968">ButterOmens</a> chain started by HolyCatsAndRabbits. Follow the link for instructions, but the event is a cross between a "round robin" and a "draw this in your own style" for all kinds of fanworks. All content creators are invited to join in!</p><p>The full relevant chain (and previous portions of this story) can be found <a href="https://joyandotherstories.tumblr.com/post/612611801018925056/butteromens-submission">here.</a></p><p>The start of this chain and original inspiration is <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23080309">"Snow Angel"</a> by HolyCatsAndRabbits, a story of Crowley and his nightmares.</p><p>This was expanded upon by lyricwritesprose in <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23080645">"The Path From Fire to Snow"</a> by retelling from Aziraphale's perspective and adding essential background.</p><p>Next came WitchingWhovian's <a href="https://witchingwhovian.tumblr.com/post/612149820690432000/butteromens-submission">"A Path Back Home,"</a> detailing Crowley's recovery with Aziraphale's help.</p><p>Aethelflaed's fic, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23111779">"Aziraphale's Path"</a> was added as an epilogue to "A Path Back Home."</p><p>Finally, my fic, "Finding the Path Again" was added as an epilogue to the epilogue, from Crowley's POV.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Finding the Path Again</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale was sleeping too much.</p><p>Well, he was sleeping <em>at all</em>.</p><p>At first, Crowley had thought it was natural fatigue—Aziraphale’s rescue of Crowley, after the shattering attack from Heaven and Hell, had taken vast quantities of angelic energy, and then he’d been tireless for weeks afterward, tending to Crowley’s injuries, making their cottage livable again. Anyone, even an angel who’d barely slept in 6000 years, would need rest after that.</p><p>But this sleep didn’t seem restful.</p><p>Aziraphale certainly didn’t seem rested when he was awake. He seemed…blank. He was unfailingly kind, and answered politely when Crowley spoke to him, but in between, he seemed…lost. Absent. He stared into the middle distance and forgot the book or the food or the glass he had in his hands (usually that Crowley had put there in the first place). He smiled when Crowley performed these small kindnesses, and <em>technically</em>, it was his usual smile—Crowley could swear that his facial muscles were performing the same act they had for millennia—but nonetheless, it lacked its old glow, and that made it utterly <em>unlike </em>Aziraphale’s usual smile.</p><p>Crowley had made the mistake once of asking Aziraphale to talk about it, and the angel had gone silent for two days. He hadn’t tried that again, and had reverted to hoping that Aziraphale would find a way back to him on his own, if Crowley just waited long enough.</p><p>Crowley was used to waiting for Aziraphale, after all.</p><p>And in any case, it was Aziraphale who was the skilled one at healing from this sort of thing; Crowley had never, ever forgotten (even while asleep) the loving, patient way Aziraphale had guided <em>him </em>back home, over and over, long ago now.</p><p>But now Aziraphale had been asleep for two days, and Crowley knew he wasn’t healing.</p><p>He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t even <em>breathing</em>.</p><p>Crowley might have felt better if the angel had whimpered, or thrashed, or protested—anything to break this frozen impasse. Anything Crowley could see, because if he could see it, maybe he could fix it.</p><p><em>You know what you have to do</em>, his mind told him.</p><p><em>I don’t know how</em>, he protested.</p><p><em>Doesn’t matter. He did it for you</em>.</p><p>Crowley took in a breath—he didn’t need it, but it seemed like at least one of them ought to be breathing at the moment—slid into the bed, wrapped himself around Aziraphale, and kissed his forehead.</p><p>“I’m coming, my angel.”</p><p> </p><p>He was prepared for crashing waves of screaming despair, like his own fiery nightmare.</p><p>There were none.</p><p>And it was <em>worse</em>.</p><p>Waves he could have fought, but this was a gripping, freezing paralysis that nearly brought him to his knees before he managed to remember that these weren’t his own feelings.</p><p>He spread his arms, spread his wings, forced his legs to straighten, took a breath of air that didn’t exist. Slowly, the dream came into focus.</p><p>He’d half expected flames, but there were none.</p><p>There was <em>nothing</em>.</p><p>Nothing except rain, driving down on barren mud, the garden in barely-visible shreds, the cottage obliterated, everything shrouded in soulless, heartless grey.</p><p>And there was Aziraphale, soaked, kneeling in the mud, unmoving, staring at a lone black feather and a lone yellow tulip.</p><p>The sight nearly brought Crowley to his own knees again. Was this what his angel had found that day?</p><p>He could hear Aziraphale’s thoughts, now, the only moving thing besides the pounding rain, and the thoughts pounded just as hard: <em>You failed, you failed, you failed. Should have known. Should have been here. Should have, should have, should have</em>….</p><p>So <em>this </em>was what was keeping Aziraphale blank and lost and frozen in the real world.</p><p><em>Alright</em>, Crowley thought grimly. <em>You want things to be frozen? You want precipitation? I’ll give you frozen precipitation</em>.</p><p> </p><p>A single snowflake drifted down, landing in the cup of the tulip. Then another. Another.</p><p>“Well,” Crowley said, willing his voice to steadiness. “Not as dramatic without flames, but I guess it still works.”</p><p>It was a while before Aziraphale looked up, and even then his gaze was blank and disbelieving in a way that shattered Crowley’s heart all over again.</p><p>“Come on, angel,” Crowley said, holding out his hand as Aziraphale had done for him, time after time. “Time for that walk, yeah?”</p><p>Aziraphale stared at the offered hand for a long time, still blank, still lost, then shook his head. “I can’t, Crowley. They…they took you. You died. I…I’m so sorry…”</p><p>“No, Aziraphale, no.” Crowley sat down in a rush—he could no longer bear any distance between himself and his angel. He cupped Aziraphale’s face, brushed away the rain that insisted on falling into Aziraphale’s eyes, refusing to transform into the softer snow that was everywhere else. “I didn’t die. They took me, but…you found me. You <em>saved</em>me. Like you always do.”</p><p>“Don’t be absurd,” Aziraphale told him, and his eyes wandered away from the real Crowley back to the black feather he continued to clutch. “I can’t save you. I’m useless. Stupid. Not even fit to call myself an angel. I…Crowley, I’m lost without you.”</p><p>“Bless it, angel,” Crowley said desperately, “<em>look at me.”</em></p><p>Aziraphale’s eyes traveled up to meet his with aching slowness, but maybe there was <em>something </em>there now—a hint of trust, possibly.</p><p>“I’m <em>fine</em>,” Crowley told him. Oh Someone, was he doing this right? “This…all this already happened. It’s just a dream. I don’t know if I’m supposed to tell you that yet, but you’re dreaming. Can’t you feel my arms around you?” <em>Please, please, don’t let me be screwing this up</em>.</p><p>Aziraphale’s eyebrows furrowed, fractionally, like the ghost of his usual thoughtful expression. ”I don’t sleep,” he objected slowly. “I never dream.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, you started after the attack. I thought you were just tired, and since you wouldn’t <em>say</em>anything…” No no no—he was absolutely <em>not </em>criticizing his angel right now. “Never mind, I’m here now. And I’m going to stay with you until you’re better. I promise.”</p><p>All around them, the snow was piling up, turning the scene of devastation into something serene, beautiful. Aziraphale, by contrast, melted just a bit, relaxing into Crowley’s touch. Crowley waited. He wasn’t sure how long would be enough, but when he stood up, Aziraphale let himself be pulled to his feet.</p><p>“I found you?” Aziraphale whispered. His voice was broken, but there were snowflakes instead of raindrops on his lashes now, and a sheen of true tears instead of battering rain in his eyes.</p><p>“Yes. You did.” Crowley told him firmly, and wrapped his hand around Aziraphale’s. The angel’s hand was stiff and cold, and then began to soften and warm. “And I found you. And we’re going for a nice walk now, and then we’re going home.”</p><p>“I…I don’t think I remember the way,” Aziraphale murmured.</p><p>“Don’t worry.” Crowley reached over and plucked the black feather from his hand, let it drift away on the wind. He looked back to Aziraphale and let his smile show his love and his willingness to wait as long as Aziraphale needed. “You showed me, all those years ago. I’ll help you find it again.”</p><p>He took them to the park. It was morning, neither dark night nor glaring sun, just a gently glowing sunrise, snow still swirling around them.</p><p>Aziraphale still held Crowley’s hand trustingly, though he still looked lost, and his clothes were still dripping and muddy.</p><p>“Let’s get you cleaned up, angel,” Crowley said, and leaned close, blowing gently and entirely unnecessarily. The mud and the drenching rainwater wafted away, as a paint stain had, decades ago, but these transformed into snowflakes that blended and settled in with all the others that were transforming their usual park into a glittering wonderland. Crowley led Aziraphale to their usual bench, cleared the snow away with a wave, sat them down together.</p><p>It felt as though it took ages, but gradually Aziraphale leaned into him, softened under the arm Crowley draped around the angel’s shoulders.</p><p>“Angel?” Crowley suggested. “You think you might be ready to wake up now?”</p><p>And—<em>no</em>—too soon, too soon—Aziraphale stiffened again, the stifling paralysis clamping down on him again—</p><p>“It’s alright, angel!” Crowley said swiftly, trying not to let his panic show. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you. I’ve got you here, and I’ve got you there. I won’t leave you, not ever. You can take as long as you need, but I think—I <em>think </em>it would be better if you did some of it in the real world. I dunno, you’re better at this than me, but that’s what you had me do, back when it was my dream.”</p><p>Aziraphale let out a tiny, choked whimper (<em>finally</em>) and buried his head in Crowley’s shoulder, both here in the dream and there in their bed.</p><p>Crowley wrapped his arms around him more securely. “Can you feel me? I mean, the real me?”</p><p>“I—I think so,” said Aziraphale, his voice trembling, which was heartbreaking, but vastly better than the flatness since the attack.</p><p>“Alright,” Crowley said, swallowing. “I’ll need you to trust me. I’m going to let go, here, so you can sit up. But you’ll still feel me, there.”</p><p>Aziraphale let out another whimper and pressed desperately closer into dream-Crowley’s side.</p><p>“It’s alright, it’s alright, angel. I’ve still got you. I—I know you probably don’t trust yourself, right now, but do you still trust me?”</p><p>“You’re <em>gone</em>,” Aziraphale said, with a sob.</p><p>“I’m <em>not</em>,” Crowley stated. “And you’re the reason I’m not, but we’ll talk about that later. Just trust me, angel. Can you do that for me?”</p><p>At last, Aziraphale pulled back just enough to look into Crowley’s serpent-yellow eyes. “Of course I trust you, Crowley.” The tears brimming in Aziraphale’s eyes finally spilled over. “I’ve always trusted you.”</p><p>“I know,” said Crowley, loosening his arms the slightest amount. “Because you’re so much kinder and better and braver than they ever wanted you to be. Sit up for me, angel. I know you can do it, because I know how strong you are.” He let his hands sink down to Aziraphale’s elbows, giving him the space he needed to sit up.</p><p>At first, the hammering rain and the buffeting thoughts of failure tried to drive their way back in.</p><p><em>Bugger off</em>, Crowley thought at them, strengthening his own image of soothing, gentle snow. He wasn’t Hell’s only imaginative demon for nothing.</p><p>Aziraphale kept his terrified eyes fixed on Crowley’s, and inch by inch pulled himself upright.</p><p>The dream dissolved in a whirl of snow, and Crowley found himself, disorientingly, seated vertically on a bench at the same time that he was lying horizontally on a bed—</p><p>The real Aziraphale in his arms gave a wrenching sob and clutched at Crowley’s shirt.</p><p>“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Crowley murmured, holding him close, kissing the soft hair, rubbing the shaking back.</p><p>“<em>Crowley</em>,” Azirphale choked out, and then could only sob, for long, aching minutes, making a start, Crowley hoped, on all the tears he hadn’t shed since he’d come home to find their lives shattered and Crowley lost.</p><p>“I’m…sorry,” Aziraphale gasped eventually, tears still streaming from his eyes into the sheets. “I’m—I’m a sobbing <em>mess</em>, I—”</p><p>“Angel,” Crowley said fervently, “for anyone’s sake, <em>please </em>be a sobbing mess. You deserve to be a sobbing mess. I’ll lie here with you and be a sobbing mess together if it helps.” (His own eyes <em>were </em>a bit damp.)</p><p>Aziraphale let out a sob that had a hint of a hiccupping laugh in it, and buried himself in Crowley’s chest for a while longer.</p><p>Eventually, he subsided into something that was quieter, not fully calmed, but (praise <em>anything</em>) no longer blank and flat.</p><p>“Thank you, my dear, for coming for me. And waiting for me.” He brought a hand to Crowley’s face, tracing it with fingers and eyes.</p><p>“’Course,” said Crowley hoarsely. He wanted to pull him close and kiss his tears away, but he knew that Aziraphale needed to be able to see him right now. “You showed me how, remember?”</p><p>Aziraphale smiled, softly—not the glowy one, but a <em>real </em>one, with his old warmth beginning to rekindle. He sobered quickly, but the smile had been there.</p><p>“I—I suppose this may happen again. The dream, I mean.”</p><p>“If it does, I’ll come find you again,” Crowley promised, clasping Aziraphale’s hand and bringing it to his lips. “Wherever you are, I’ll come to you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, please go check out the other works in the ButterOmens chain (links at the top of the page). And feel free to contribute your own art or story -- just remember to tag the original creator on Tumblr or use the "inspired by" checkbox on AO3!</p><p>Thanks to <a href="https://n0nb1narydemon.tumblr.com">n0nb1narydemon</a> and <a href="https://acuteangleaziraphale.tumblr.com">acuteangleaziraphale</a> for creating the concept of ButterOmens!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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